


Go For a Drive

by orphan_account



Category: Sugar Pine 7 RPF
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, mentions of the car accident, not too intense but tagging to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13102176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Steven doesn't make up his mind--for once in his life, his body makes the decision for him.





	Go For a Drive

**Author's Note:**

> I coulda made it but I messed around  
> I'm a loser with a rusty crown  
> Scared if I jump in the ocean I might drown
> 
> [King of a One Horse Town](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oXTNkomiNio&ab_channel=EasyEyeSound)

Steven doesn't make up his mind--for once in his life, his body makes the decision for him.

The clock on his dashboard glows an incriminating 2:45 am, the bright red almost accusatory in the dead of night. It's only him and the occasional passing headlight to keep him company, music low like the soft whisper of a lover, going in and out of focus. Both his hands are on either side of the wheel, and he doesn't have to look to know there's a strain in his knuckles, grip hard enough he should feel it but the sensation is barely there--like sound when you're underwater, so far off and barely discernible. Everything is happening far off. That's it.

It's not him driving down this familiar route--one he knows by heart, of course--yet it is, at the same time. The same way almost none of the decisions he's made in the past months felt like they were made by him, even if he knows they were. It's his life, and it's not. Driving petrifies him lately, but at the moment, it doesn't--autopilot blessedly taking control of his body while his mind winds and unwinds itself without mercy. His thoughts pass without feeling, he knows they're heavy but the weight never truly hits.

Maybe it's the newfound numbness that lets him do it--lets his foot press down a fraction of an inch after inch after inch onto the accelerator--every miniscule movement managing to have so much influence. His blood spikes and he's going faster, much faster than he has in a while, faster than he's terrified to go lately, but down on this stretch of highway he feels his head clear up like the rushing wind is blowing the smog from his brain.

Terminal velocity for a terminal mind.

He feels free, genuinely free for the first time in a while. His body and mind finally sync, the tension in his hands eases and he lets himself go in the drift. Cib's car doesn't exactly go _fast_ by any means, certainly nowhere near the speeds of Steven's now demolished F-type--but it'll do. The car starts making suspicious noises, parts of it shaking and sputtering in ways that should alert him, but the danger fails to breach his euphoric state; if anything, he presses down on the pedal ever slightly more. He's never been the king of good decisions, but at the moment it doesn't even feel like a decision--just an act of fate propelling his body forward, chasing the ebb of oblivion before the come down like an addict on withdrawal.

Nothing's going to happen, he tells himself. He's not going to crash, or veer off the road or spin out of control--he's got it on the authority of intuition that at the moment he'll be overwhelmingly, painstakingly, _disgustingly fine_ , because the real trouble doesn't come until he's merging into the next lane, until he's making toward the exit and life comes at him fast. Reality superimposes itself over his misguided convictions like double exposure and he's blinking between two opposing worlds--one moment he's closing his eyes and feels his body rocket forward, flipping helplessly out of control with his car, then he opens his eyes and the image is gone, replaced by the turn in the road as he reaches his exit.

Reality comes with the reminder that he has no plan.

He doesn't come up with one, either, while neighborhood cruising, nor when he's making a final turn down that street, toward that house, to that reality that stutters before his eyes. Steven wants to be anywhere else, God anywhere at all as the panic ramps up and lumps itself in his throat, car going to a crawl as it approaches its destination. And like the brave man he is, Steven waits outside on the driveway, seconds bleeding past as he tries to gather what little resolve he has left.

It doesn't fully occur to him until he's halfway to the entrance that it might not even _be_ Parker who answers the door, and what the hell is Steven supposed to say if Jeremy or Andrew are the ones to greet him, that is assuming, of course, anyone even wakes up to answer the door at all. He did not think this through, at all, in any capacity, and he briefly considers retreating back to the car and running it into a ditch if only to capture that fleeting carefree feeling again, but he uses the momentum of that thought to press forward and ring the doorbell.

It's comically anticlimactic in some way, yet the silence after the chime is nothing short of torture. He's attuned to every little pinprick of sound, any shuffle or whisper that indicated there was life beyond the door. It was too late in the night to send a text, and at this point that reeked of desperation--more than he normally does, at least.

In a small act of mercy, it is Parker who answers the door--this time no look of shock on his face or a scramble to get the headphones out of his ears. He doesn't look like he's rubbing the sleep out of his eyes either, because there's something very cognizant and awake that lingers on his face--Steven can't quite put his finger on what, but he almost ventures to say Parker was expecting something like this (perhaps not 'taking a night drive 20 minutes out of my way to see you, even though I already did that earlier in the day and had nothing to show for it but an emotional shutdown and belated anxiety attack' levels of clairvoyance, but the point still stands).

"Steven," Parker simply says, voice soft despite the situation--and Steven desperately wants to say it's different this time--that he's different, and that he knows what to say this time, and that the freedom from his earlier drive had left his emboldened and renewed. But it didn't. Parker takes one step back, as if he's making room to let Steven into the house, and Steven does the same, but his step back is the start of a retreat.

Something about the way Steven's name fell from the other boy's lips causes something to snap in his head. Everything starts to slow down. Everything feels like it's happening at a distance. Like he's underwater.

Like he's drowning.

He's been drowning the whole time, he realizes, since Parker's death. The contrast from the house's interior lighting makes his visage look unnaturally pale, his half-lidded eyes gleam like pearls against his washed out skin. The entire image invokes a strange sensation of floating in Steven, as if seeing the way Parker's face catches the light is akin to seeing sunlight sparkle on the surface just above your head where you're so close you can trace your fingers right where water clips air--then Parker tilts his head ever so slightly to the side and the scene will change, so that he looks like the King of Atlantis beckoning you back into the murky waters.

Parker gives a quick nod of his head and says, "Let's go for a drive." It's not a question or a command, just a natural progression of events. He seems to be more attuned to Steven's new idiosyncratic nature, understanding his hesitated movements and picking up on the fact that the rules of the old world are melting away.

Steven nods his head in return. Parker cranes his head over Steven's shoulder to get a look at his car before a strange shade passes over his face.

"Is that, um..the car.." Fuck. Oh _fuck_. Steven is a goddamn idiot, the realization hitting him like a truck and almost forcing him to double over. He manages to remain upright but knows the strain reflects on his face, clear as day. And Parker, for all the cruelty he's received--both subtle and straightforward--for all the abuse he's suffered at the price of being their friend, and for the final act that ripped him from the waking world--he manages to stay soft. If there's an accusation to make in his mind, it doesn't show on his face.

"I'll drive," he says in complete confidence.

~***~

There's some things you don't even realize you miss, until it's sudden presence fills a hidden void. For Steven, it was the simple profile of Parker's face, solid and pale against the passing city lights, that awakens an aching feeling deep within him. He knows he's staring unabashedly at the other boy, and he knows Parker knows from the occasional flicker of his eyes.

He doesn't ask where they're going, and Parker doesn't offer any information. While that would normally cause Steven to panic (he was never one to like being out of control), he finds he doesn't mind too much--Parker could either drive him deeper into the water or drag him to the surface and it would make no difference. Perhaps letting yourself go with the flow was a constant battle in itself, contradictory and nonsensical like everything in Steven's life lately. Either way, having the other boy drive feels like a huge weight was being lifted off his shoulders.

"It's good to see you," Parker says, casting the first stone against the wall of silence that's built up on the drive. Steven can tell that he genuinely means it, even if his gaze is intense and cast dutifully onto the road.

"I, yeah--it's. It's good to see you, too." He wishes his voice would breach past a whisper, but he's not completely ready to tear down that wall between them just yet. He has to go at his own pace--not that the has a choice in the matter, his only other option is to open the car door and roll into the street, but that's a last ditch effort.

"We can just…talk, you know. Doesn't have to be about anything. Just catch up, maybe?" Therein lies the problem: Steven can't think of a single topic he can breach that won't be like stepping out into a minefield. Every thread of conversation gets caught and tangled in his throat, and all he can see is every single way anything he says can go wrong, compounding on itself like a highway car pile-up.

"How about I put on some music?" Steven replies. "Maybe listen to some songs I've liked recently…" It's actually not an attempt to change the subject--it's just the first hook he can think to cast that doesn't come double-edged.

Parker's lips purse, but he makes no move to stop Steven. This strange gray area's got his nerves rocketing again and his hand hovers uncertain in the air.

"There's this one song that…" _reminds me of you_ . "It uh, it's…" _like it was written for you, like it says everything I need it to._ "Good. It's good, and I…" _wish I could share it with you. Wish I could tell you so many things, but I--I don't know how, I don't know I don't--_

"Steven, I can't do this anymore," Parker says abruptly. "I just can't, I--shit, Steve, are you ok?" But Steven's entire train of thought had already come to a crashing halt, his hand now braced against the dashboard as if he was holding onto it for dear life. He's somehow caught between two worlds--one overstimulation hell where everything is cranked up to maximum effect, and the other a blurred, slow motion machine running his perception through a filter. It barely registers that Parker's been talking the whole time, and he thinks he sees the car pulling over onto the side of the road before they're engulfed in an enclosure of trees.

"--breathe, Steve. It's ok, it's ok--" Parker's hand grasps Steven's arm, his grip sturdy and grounding. He's vaguely aware that the other boy is counting--one, two, three forwards and backwards like a metronome, and Steven tried to align his breathing with it but he feels like his reality is running three seconds too fast.

"--Can't--can't what--?" Steven gasps, chest heaving like it's taking all the strength in the world to push the words out.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean--I just, _I'm sorry."_

" _Why_? For _What_?" What did he have to be sorry for? There was nothing--absolutely nothing for him to apologize over. He wasn't the one that should be sorry.

 _"_ I just wanted to talk, that's all. About anything." And Parker still sounds so apologetic, all soft voice and gentle strokes of his hand up and down Steven's arm. It's enough to driven him to his breaking point

" _Anything?"_ Steven practically spits. He panic turns to anger, his anger turns to pain, and his pain turns into _everything_.

"You wanna talk? You wanna hear every single excruciating detail about life since you've been gone? Well, here it all is, Parker! God, where do we even fucking start? Oh I know--how about the most recent elephant in the room: why I didn't drive my own car over! Because it's fucking trashed, absolutely demolished--like everything else in my life--I flipped it in goddamn circles and had it towed off to sit in someone's driveway like a useless pile of garbage, thereby inconveniencing another person like a nonstop comedy of errors. Doesn't even matter that I don't have a car, though, I'm too terrified to drive, and every time I try I get--I get--" he quickly recalls his trip to Parker's house, feels his body seize. "Who needs a car anyway! Who needs anything! We should all throw away our material possessions and burn down society and learn to live in the woods or something, but I might just be fucking _projecting_ because I'm just about flat broke. I had to pack up my entire house and move into some compact, tiny apartment as if I'm college dropout all over again--and you know what? That wasn't even so bad, all of that wasn't even so bad, no--not until Cib--" He snaps his mouth shut. His breath is raggedy, face is wet. He's been crying, and he's rapidly losing steam.

"The business isn't working out, I don't know how to keep it going. I don't know how to keep anything going, anymore. I want to stop, or slow down, but I realize that's not a choice. And I've just spent this entire conversation talking about myself, because apparently that's the only fucking thing I know how to talk about and this isn't how I wanted anything to go, ever--but I can't stop, I can't stop myself anymore and pushing it all down makes me feel like I'm burning inside out--I'm on fire and no one seems to see. They don't notice and I'm--God, I'm too scared to say anything at all." He pauses to try and collect himself. "I look at you and I feel absolute _terror_ , but somewhere in that terror is this tiny, miniscule, infinitesimal glimmer of _hope_ \--and I can't help but think that's the worst part about this."

Steven takes a deep, shaky breath and says, "None of this is what I wanted to say, or how I wanted to say it. All I wanted to tell you, was that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Parker, for everything that's happened--both before and after your death. For the way we treated you, for the way we keep treating you, for the way _I_ treat you. You deserve so much better, Parker, honest to God I--what are you doing?"

"I don't _know_ ," Parker says, words falling from his mouth on one sturdy breath as he shifts off of his seat and maneuvers his body over the car's center console. The seat barely manages to accommodate one tall boy body, and adding another one proves to be a tight fit--Parker's head grazes the roof while Steven presses himself against the upholstery trying to make room for whatever the hell was going on. One moment he's sitting upright, then the next he's sprawled on his back after Parker reached over to pull the recliner handle all the way, letting out a curt 'fuck' as Parker's other elbow accidentally jabs him in the stomach.

It's completely uncomfortable, neither of them have enough room, their lanky legs are tangled together in an awkward configuration--but Steven is hardly cognizant to any of that, because Parker has hoisted himself up with both his arms braced on either side of Steven's body, his eyes searching Steven's own with an intimate intensity.

" _Listen_." Parker is so close Steven can feel his warm breath tickle his face. "Earlier, I wanted to say--I can't, couldn't beat around the bush anymore. Don't hide from me, Steven, I want to hear it--need to hear it, because I know how it feels. I've been there, too. I can't say that I'm not mad about everything that's happened, that I haven't vacilitated wildly between anger, rage, despair, hurt--there's so many things I can't put into words--but know that while I'm angry, and might be for a long time, I don't hate you. I promise, I don't hate you. All I want to do is talk, and I know no conversation we'll have for a while will be easy, and everything from here on out is an uphill battle, but I want to try. I want to keep going forward." He bites his lip and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they've gone soft.

"After I woke up, months had gone by--but it hadn't felt like more than a day. I thought I was going back to the Steve I remembered, and I…I was ready for a fight. I was ready to defend myself if I had to, or go to toe to with anyone who looked at me the wrong way, I was even ready for revenge. Then I saw you--the you that can't carry a conversation, or can't look me in the eyes for more than a few seconds, or runs out at the very first sign of trouble. You're not the same person you were before, _I'm_ not the same person I was before. Neither of us are the same and the world's gone by in the blink of an eye--I'm just trying to adjust but everyday feels like I'm in over my head and every time I get close to breaking the surface, I can't make it. I'm stuck steadfast in the same spot, frozen there, drowning--"

Parker is unable to finish, because at that moment, Steven had cupped his face with his hands and brought it down into a kiss.

Steven wants to blame it on a lot of things--stress, overstimulation from the sheer amount of mental and emotional overload, the cumulation of every single bad decision he's made in the past year forming a gravitational pull between him and the ability to make his worst possible decision yet--in the end, however, he simply did it because it felt like the right thing to do.

Parker kisses back with a vigor and passion of his own, and it's as if they're both trying to draw out the breath of salvation from within the other. Even then, they're messy and fumbling around like teenagers, but to Steven it feels like coming home. To touch and be touched by someone who not only understood the suffering you carried deep inside, but also had a part of it reflected in themselves was simply intoxicating, and Steven could feel that electric connection even in the fingertip Parker was lightly running up his arm.

" _Fuck_ , Steven," Parker whispers after breaking off from the kiss. His pupils are blow wide and cheeks dusted with a blush barely visible in the dark.

"Shhhh," is all Steven can muster before chasing after his mouth, peppering it with soft kisses and wisps of 'I missed you' in between. He brings his fingers up to Parker's chin and nudges his head slightly to the side, enough to allow him to press one final kiss--this one firm and with the intent of sending a message, that they're tied together by the common thread that runs through them, irrevocably connected.

"Wow," Parker says, and Steven internally agrees. _Wow_. Parker gives a few lethargic blinks of his eyes before settling his head onto Steven's chest and curling up to get comfortable as best he can in their limited quarters. Steven slides his hand up the other boy's back, and for a moment they revel in a new silence, one not encumbered by things unsaid.

"I know we still have a lot to talk about, but…" Steven starts after a few minutes.

"But for now…" Parker continues before breaking off into a yawn.

They were both still treading water, but this time with their heads above water. For now, everything else could wait.

 


End file.
